Figures from the past
by coda KAZ 2Y5
Summary: A collar from Gene's past comes back to haunt him, and places Sam's life in danger. Will Gene be able to save him, and face the truth about his feeling for his DI? might be SamGene eventually.
1. Hungover

Figures from the past

A/N - This is my first Life on Mars fic, and will eventually be Sam/Gene, but please bear with me – any tips you can give me on character interaction are greatly appreciated.

He was just about sick of this, thought DI Sam Tyler as he wrestled with the eternally broken front door to his tiny flat. It was rebelling – yet again – against Gene Hunt, Sam's boss's, customary method of entry; breaking it down, and was currently refusing point-blank to detach from it's frame and allow Sam into what had become his home. And it was really not the day for it. Well, night he supposed. It was really very early morning, around 3am, Friday November 3rd 1973; Sam had a splitting headache, bruises covering his back and an even coating of general cuts and scratches, all in varying degrees of severity. His pain pills, what passed for anti-septic in '73, and, most importantly, his bed were beyond this flaming door, and it chose now to get well and truly stuck. Damn Gene Hunt!

It was the Guv's fault he felt like shit too. After wrapping up their latest case the day before, Hunt had insisted the entire team head down to the Railway Arms to celebrate; and gloat about the collar to Litton's team, and any of the rest of the Manchester police force they happened upon. It had been this that had earned Sam his incredible headache. Apparently some of the other coppers in their area were none too happy about DCI Hunt and his team making the Quagmire arrest – not when some of them had been working the case for well over 6 months now. Sam didn't have any real sympathy for them though, if they had documented their evidence properly then the link between motive and suspect would have been made a lot earlier, he had wisely not mentioned this to the officers concerned however. Then Gene had opened his mouth. The ensuing brawl had been an insult to policing, at least, Sam thought, it would have been regarded as such in 2006. in reality – or what was now Sam's reality – it had not really meant anything. They had all been blowing off steam. No grudges would be held and nothing more would come of it, so surely it could not have been such a bad thing? Happiness swelled inside of Sam at the thought, despite his aching body and awkward front door. Before, when he had been in his coma, all of his comparisons between 'home' and 1973, had been very negative, and all he had wanted was to fight against the ways of his new colleagues. Now though, after making a conscious decision to stay in 73, the same stuff seemed positive. 2006 was no longer any comparison to his new home. It seemed it was just a matter of the way you thought about it.

Sam's train of thought was dramatically broken as his door finally gave up it's resistance and, under the force of his shoulder – which hurt a lot – opened wide. His musings had distracted Sam however, and only his honed reflexes stopped him falling flat on his face on his own door mat. Not that he had a door mat.

Keeping the light off to avoid any unnecessary pain in his head, Sam stumbled across the tiny, dingy room. The dim lighting kept most of the place in darkness, and the heavy blanket of night was suddenly thick upon his senses. His hearing and sense of touch were dulled, numbing some of the pain and making the idea of taking pills seem a little silly. His bed was what he really needed. Having maintained the presence of mind to lock his door again behind him, Sam fell on to his squeaky cot, feeling relatively secure and immediately lost himself to a deep, heavy sleep.

The morning dawned quickly and pleasantly enough for DCI Gene Hunt, until he made it into work.

'Where the hell is he?' he demanded of the void, as he paced his office like a caged big cat, waiting for DI to make it into the station. Not like Sammy-boy to be late though, is it? Normally the annoying prick was in before Gene was even up on a morning, sorting through paperwork, giving Gene more work to do. He flinched as he knocked his leg off the corner of his desk, remembering the deep purple bruise he had acquired the night before, and , despite his anger, grinned briefly. It had been a good night. Plenty of drink, and a good old fashioned bar fight to round up the night. Even Sam had loosened up enough to join in after a few minutes! Maybe that was why he was bloody late, he thought. Sitting in his hole of a flat licking his wounds – ponce. Suddenly decided on what to do, Gene snatched his camel hair over coat from it's hook and launched himself out of his office in the main area of CID, which was starting to fill up slowly; if the rest of them could drag their sorry arses into work after last night then so could DI Tyler. Besides, it wasn't like Sam couldn't fight God-damn-it, Gene had seen that last night too. He could be damn good if he wanted to be, he just lacked the urge to fight. Oh well, Gene'd knock that right out of him, when he got hold of the skiving bugger. He reached his car, climbed in and, after a moment's consideration, buckled up. Tyler was right – though he hated to admit it – it was the law, and he knew he would be breaking a few speed limits on the way to drag his subordinate into work by the scruff of his neck, if he wanted to get back in time for his morning bacon butty. He had important police business that Sammy boy was so keen on to discuss with him.

'Tyler!' Gene bellowed through the door, 'Tyler get your arse out here in the next thirty seconds, with a damn good reason for forcing me out here, or I'm coming in there and you will bloody well wish you'd never bloody well been born my lad!'

The only answer was what could have been an attempt at speech, but came out as a low moan, and the sound of someone moving around.

'TYLER!'

The lack of response from within the flat prompted an odd feeling to settle in Gene's stomach, kinda like a tight knot of…concern? God only knew what could have happened to Sam since the last time Gene saw him, his heart rate quickened a little. Giving himself a firm mental shake, however, he pulled himself away from the thoughts now racing around his head. Sam was not hurt. He had a hangover and was being a bloody great girl about it. Besides, his DI could take care of himself, and if Sam did have a booboo, what did Gene care? No, it was not worry that had brought him over here, merely annoyance that the officers under his command were incapable of getting into work on time. With this conviction in mind, Gene resumed his hammering upon Sam's long suffering front door, untill, finally, Sam appeared in the doorway, leaning slightly on the frame, clad in only a pair of tight fitting jean, looking at Gene through sleepy, half closed brown eyes.

Gene's heart leapt at the sight, before his head firmly told it, in no uncertain terms, that he was pissed off, not worried.

'Why the hell are you not at work, we have an important case that needs our immediate attention' Hunt demanded, squaring his shoulders and shoving his way into the apartment. He stopped in the centre of the room, and looked around. The bed lay, unmade, and with the few blankets and comforter throw to the ground, there was an old shirt, with a respectable coating of dried blood laying across the single armchair, and the rest of the clothes Sam had been wearing at the pub were littered around the room. 'Maid's day off is it?' He asked, turning to face his DI.

'Guv?' Sam flinched against the light pouring in his still open front door, and for the first time the DCI noticed his subordinate's palour, and the deep purple bruising along his temple. The unfocussed eyes and dilated pupils, together with the unstable swaying as he moved away from the door frame's support told the senior police officer all he needed to know. Damn if Sammy boy wasn't concust. Doesn't excuse not at least calling in to work though did it, Gene thought.

'Work?'

Damn. It must be bad, he thought as his attention returned to the man in front of him, who had now closed the door and was standing before him, looking at his boss as if he had just appeared out of thin air.

'Yeah, work,' Hunt said, calmly, all the annoyance flowing out of him at the confused, curious look Sam has pinned him with. He was just too cute, standing there bare foot and chested, swaying slightly. Shit, swaying a lot. Gene darted forward just in time to save Sam from making contact with the old, worn carpet of his flat.

'Okay then Sammy boy, maybe work is not such a good idea,' he muttered as he helped his half awake DI toward the bed.

'Gene,' Sam stopped suddenly, looking at the man who was currently supporting most of his weight, and asking in a surprisingly clear voice, 'what are you doing here?'

' Stopping you falling flat on your face, and damaging that thick skull of yours, what does it look like, now get into bed,' Gene ordered, in his best no nonsense voice, pleased when Sam looked at him for a second then obeyed – if only partially – and sat on the edge of his bed, laying his head in his hands.

'Jesus' he murmured, as the need to just keel over attacked him once again.

'Here,' Gene answered, tossing a bottle of painkillers he had found in the bedside drawer toward Sam, and shaking his head as he fumbled the catch, and bent to retrieve the bottle, nearly toppling off the bed in the process. ' take those, sleep an get your ass into work in the morning. I can't afford for you to be a bloody nancy about a head ache,' he stood over Sam 'till he complied – at least with the first command, even fetching him a glass of water, which earned him a small grateful smile, as Sam sank in to a horizontal position.

'Stay put,' he said, 'I'm gonna go now, but I'll be back after work to check you're not dead, you hear me?'

Apparently the answer was no, as Sam murmured incoherently. Gene sighed as he bent to man handle his DI into a more comfortable sleeping position, surprising him self with his own care as he gently encourage Sam to turn over, and retrieved the comforter from the floor, placing it over his sleeping friend, before turning to head out the door, checking to make sure it was fastened securely on hid way.

So. Please let me know what you think. This is the first time I've written a life on mars fic though I love the show. All ideas and constructive criticisms are happily received, thanks a lot.

coda KAZ2Y5


	2. Gone

It had been a long and bloody tedious day of bugger all, DCI Hunt mentally concluded as he stomped up the steps toward his DI's shithole of flat. A plastic carrier bag containing the fruit juice, bread and soup he had sent Cartwright down to the store for, banged against his leg with every step he took. It matched the banging in his temples.

He could have really used Sam today, if he wasn't being such a girl. Antonio Myres was out god-damn-it, and Gene just didn't have time for this. _Don't even know why I'm here_ he thought, bloody Samantha, should be able to take care of herself by now. Still, it was better than going home to an empty house and if he was lucky he might even get a whole conversation out of his DI this time round. Not that he was holding his breath.

Reaching Sam's door Gene decided not to knock encase Sam was asleep, and mentally applauded his own genius at having snatched Sam's keys as he exited the flat after his DI had passed out that morning. Slipping it into the lock, and turning it fluidly, Gene let himself quietly into the apartment.

'Sam?' he whispered in the direction of the bed, 'you awake?' he asked the pile of blankets he could only assume was his DI.

Receiving no answer he dumped the carrier bag on the small area of unit that constituted Sam's kitchen, and moved to shake the pile.

'Oiy,' he said a little louder than before, 'time to wake your lazy arse up Gladys, you need to eat.'

Still being ignored he stripped back the blankets to reveal… no Sam.

Confused, Gene turned around quickly, surveying the small flat, and, in a matter of seconds, quickly deducted that Sam was no where to be seen. Flicking on the light, Hunt's attention was quickly drawn to a broken vase of some description, lying next to a reasonably sized patch of drying blood.

Sam Tyler awoke, feeling cold, tired and sore all over. A particularly painful spot on the back of his head reminded him of the events that had led to his extended 'sleep', and he glanced around quickly, trying to assess whether or not he was in any immediate danger. When it appeared not, he turned his attention to his surroundings. Through eyes half closed against the pain inflicted by even the dim lighting in his tiny room, Sam attempted to take stock of his situation. All he could really tell was that he was facing a wall, tied to a chair, in a fair amount of pain, and with no idea where he was.

The list of injuries in his head had barely even begun to form before a loud noise startled him, and a door to his right opened with a bang, and a thinish, yet fairly well muscled, European looking man strode into the room.

'DI Tyler,' he said, strong Manchester accent ruing the exotic look his genes had passed on, and some how making him all the more intimidating, ' I don't believe we've been introduced. My name is Antonio Myres.'


	3. Intent

Okay, here's the third chapter. Hope you guys are still enjoying it, your reviews are helping me update this story a whole lot faster than my other, lol.

'Myres?' Sam tried the name out on his tongue and was surprised at just how weak his voice was. It sounded like a mouse had crept into his throat and was speaking for him. For some reason that thought made him smile.

'You think any part of the situation you're in is funny cop?' the man in front of him spat, grabbing Sam's jaw and angling his head so the captive DI had no choice but to look him in the eye. 'you're just like him… sitting there so self assured, well I'm telling you, you won't be feeling in such high spirits by the time we're done with you.'

With that he let go of Sam, pushing him head back roughly against the wooden chair in which he was seated, and stalked out of the room, the heavy metal door, slamming shut behind him.

Sam's stomach sank, as he heard a lock side into place, sealing him into the damp smelling, pitchy blackness of the small room.

'Fat lot of good you lot are, I want him found for fucks sake!'

Gene Hunt was not in the best of moods, and as Manchester CID cowered behind their desk he yelled, cursed and hollered himself hoarse, demanding Sam Tyler's location, all to no avail. It was not until well past midnight, long after Phyllis and Cartwright forced him into letting his men go home, that the phone in his office rang.

'DCI Hunt,'

'Myres' Gene snarled, 'what the hell do you want, you oxygen wasting excuse for a man?'

'Now, now Genie, there's no need for name-calling, I just thought you might be… missing something?'

'You bastard,' Gene breathed into the phone, 'what the hell have you done with him?'

'why I haven't laid a hand on Sammy-boy, if that's what you're referring to.' Myres grinned at the police officer's harsh tone, 'why…a little worried are we Genie?'

'I don't have time for your fucking games Myres, now where the bloody 'ell is my officer?' Gene barked, annoyed that the scum he was talking to could hear the emotions in his voice he was not yet comfortable acknowledging, even to himself. But damn if he hurt Sam…

'Don't worry your self one bit about you officer,' came the reply, 'he's right here with me, fast asleep, well… for now'

The call disconnected.

Sam gazed around his prison. As far as he could tell it was nothing more than a concrete walled room, not a lot larger than the holding cells back at the station, with one solid looking door and no windows; it was not a very escapable looking room. Especially not when tied tightly to a chair.

So absorbed he was in his study of the walls he failed to hear the approaching footsteps, and so was surprised when the heavy door to his right swung open to admit the man who had introduced himself the day before, or at least, Sam thought it was the day before. The only light in the room was artificial and it had not been turned off at all, so Sam's concept of time was probably a little thrown off, he estimated it to be around 8 am.

'DI Tyler, glad to see you awake. I trust you find the accommodation suitable?'

'What the hell do you want from me?' Sam asked, ignoring the man's mocking question.

'Well, Gene Hunt is rubbing off on you now, isn't he?' Myres laughed, crouching down to make eye contact with his prisoner, 'I'll tell you what I told him,' Suddenly he struck out, backhanding Sam across the face, sending his mind reeling and poking to life the nausea from the day before, 'it's not nice to curse Sam,'

The man began to circle him, like a vulture, or a predator stalking it's prey. It was unnerving, despite the fact Sam knew what he was doing, had used the technique himself during interrogations. Myres spoke again

'Really it's a shame we have to hurt you Sam, but you see though he might not show it, Gene Hunt cares about your well being, more so than the rest of his CID team it would appear. If we hurt you, we hurt Hunt, which is the aim of the exercise.'

'Why do you want to hurt Gene?' Sam asked, immediately cursing himself for using Gene's first name, showing the level of familiarity they shared. 'and I'm sorry but you're going the wrong way about it, he doesn't care about me… if I die, he'll have to waste time looking for another DI, it would annoy him is all' Sam insisted, hoping and praying his words were lies as two large, muscled men appeared in the doorway.

'Oh but that is where you are mistaken, Gene does care for you, as he cares for all his team, but mostly about you. I've been watching the two of you Sam… he trusts you, listens to you, respects your opinions, he also sticks close to you at crime scenes, watching your back… oh yes he cares. It's really nothing personal,' he finished, straightening abruptly and tossing a flick knife to one of the two men, and disappearing from Sam's view. The thugs moved closer to the bound man…

Well… let me know what you think.


	4. Backlash

Strapped to the ceiling by his wrists, feet dangling a few inches from the floor, there was little Sam could do to escape the blows being rained on his torso, and lower body. Twisting his body in a vain attempt to lessen the force of the next hits, Sam could only take himself away in his mind. God, he wished Gene was here… then these bastards'd have a problem.

Suddenly though the beating stopped, and Sam raised his head to find out what was going on; only to lower it again very quickly, barely suppressing a whimper as the smaller of the two men who had been hitting it – both with weapons and their fists – advanced toward his prone body with the flick knife.

'Stay still now little boy,' the man's voice is cold, like his eyes, and Sam feels himself shudder, as the blade comes into contact with his ribs.

* * *

Gene collapsed into the lone armchair in the front room of his house. He had been forced to send his men home at around 11.30pm, still with no leads on Myres' whereabouts, and it didn't sit well. He wanted nothing more than to pour himself several large whiskeys, get drunk enough to forget his DI had been kidnapped, then fall into bed and sleep until Sam was found, but he stopped himself. Firstly, his being hungover would not help in the search for Sam, and second, in a weird way Gene didn't want to indulge in any way… not to drink, or even make himself too comfortable, when he knew Sammy was out there, probably in pain. Gene knew it was illogical but it just didn't sit right.

He couldn't stop playing the images in his head of Antonio's victims – the sick fuck was Gene's first mass murderer – and praying that his Sam was not going through the same thing.

Damnit! He had thought it again. HIS Sam. But hell… right now Gene Hunt didn't care. He was such a div… worse than Chris… if only he had not tried to deny his feeling for his DI, and gone and checked on Sam sooner, none of this might have happened, and now he might never get the chance to tell the younger man how he feels. It was too much and soon, the DCI fell into a shallow fitful slumber.

The slam of his letter box woke Gene a few hours later, just as the first hints of dawn were creeping into the sky over Manchester, and Gene couldn't help but wonder as he went to fetch the post if Sam could see the sun from where he was. He doubted it. One particular piece of mail caught his eye addressed only 'Bent Scumbag' Gene knew instantly who it was from and his heart leapt into his, mouth.

Ripping open the envelope, the organ sank again, as Gene's last meal rushed up to take it's place in reaction to the images taken by camera that had fallen out of the package. A note fell with them

'Maybe next time you will be a bit better mannered when I choose to contact you. As long as you follow instructions your DI will be returned to you, with no further injury. Take your car to The Fox's Tail… it's only 3 blocks from your nick, and maybe we'll see about making some… shall we say arrangement?

Your friend

Antonio Myres'

Even as Gene's blood began to boil, he was pulling on his old coat and heading out the front door… Sam would not be hurt again because of him.


	5. Getting Somewhere

I am soooooo sorry this has taken so long. My internet access was broken, and my dad refused to get someone to fix it! I know broken internet sounds like a lame excuse, but am I the only one this has ever happened to, no one else seems to have this problem, like… ever. Still, finally… the next chapter is up…

* * *

'The Fox's Tail' was a smallish bar with nothing unusual about it from the outside. On the inside it was full of some of the worst scum from the streets of Manchester. Even the great Gene Hunt, though he hated to admit it – even to himself – was a little nervous about just waltzing in without back up. He guessed there'd be a few familiar faces waiting for him. No doubt that was precisely the reason Myres had chosen the damn spot. Bastard.

Still… needs must, and there was no way he was gonna back out of this one now, not when there was a chance Sam might be hurt because of it. Without his bidding his mind returned to those pictures. Sam's swollen face and broken ribs.

'Fuckin 'ell' he swore as he climbed out of the Cortina, and stormed toward the bar.

A half and a whole lot of bruises later, Gene stumbled into the station. Blood leaked from a gash on his chin, running down his throat, and leaking into his shirt collar. He'd have to put it in the bin now, he thought, somewhere distantly in the corner of his mind.

''You feelin' alright Guv?' Ray finally broke through his daze, a look of concern on the DC's face, 'you're bleedin' all over.'

'You would bloody well would be too DC Carling, if you had just the sods I just had on me, kicking four kinds of shit out of you.' He snarled, feeling guilty for venting at Ray, but unable to stop the tone in his voice.

'What 'appened Guv? Summat to do with the Boss?' Chris asked, a wary tone in his voice.

'Yes summat to do with bloody Tyler, what do you think?' Gene bellowed, 'I just go 'round gettin' beat up for fun?'

Gene took a few deep breaths. DCI mode he told himself firmly.

'Right you lot listen up… Myres has made contact and I have ascertained his demands. As you all know this department hasn't always been whiter than white, or as transparent as maybe we should have been.

Now I got all their attention, Gene thought, as phones were hung up and conversations ended, and everyone turned to face him.

'Now it seems, that sad fact is coming back to bite us all in the arse, and DI Tyler – the most politically correct of the lot of us – will be the one paying the price of our stupidity with his life, if that is, we don't find this bastard before tomorrow night. Now I don't think I really need to remind you just now much Sam has done for this department. I want you all out there, talking to your snouts, getting the word on the street. NOW!' Gene lost it as they all just stared at him, not moving to follow his order, and screamed the last part, making the entire room full of grown men cringe. It would have made him proud at any other time. Now all he felt was sick, 'cos he had just said it. Sam could die.

'Guv?' Chris's voice questioned, as the young man himself appeared out of thin air next to him, rather making Gene think he was spending way to much time with DI Tyler than was probably safe for the world… Manchester could only take 1 Sam Tyler. Gene imagined a screens full of Sams, and streets full of his doubles… there was no way the world as they knew it would stand it. They would all turn into just one great big report, he mused, ignoring Chris's attempts to get his attention, before being brought back to reality by the realisation that at the moment, he didn't even have 1 Sam Tyler… and maybe that was something Manchester couldn't stand either. He knew he sure as hell wouldn't be able to.

'what the hell is it DC Skelton?' Hunt asked.

'It's just… I think we might have a lead Guv.'

This time as Sam awoke the pain flared immediately spreading like wildfire through his stomach and chest, piercing his lungs like knives. Please Gene, he thought, please, please get me out of here. He was too tired even to deny his feeling for his DCI, God knew he would shout it from the roof tops if it made Gene come for him any faster… he had to come, Sam didn't know how much longer he could hold on.

* * *

Again really sorry for the delay guys… please review this chapter though, even if I am a non-updating, sorry excuse for an author. 


	6. Proof Enough

A lead it was indeed, Gene thought, as he hoisted himself out of the Cortina to survey his surrounding. His beloved car was parked in the bushes, out of site to almost all and the half tarmaced scrubland it was near the edge of could have been anywhere in Manchester, anywhere in Britain for that matter, but DC Skelton's source had made it stand out. Near one side of the area, next to a patch of straggly trees the council had planted - just to be seen to be making an effort - was an old air raid bunker, large enough for the population of the grubby estate they stood in. it was the perfect place to hold someone captive, and Gene's heart soared. His head yelled at the stupid muscle, knowing they still had a long way to go to find out if Sam was even in there, let alone alive, and trying futilely to stamp on the bright spark of hope.

DI Hunt had not been entirely unconvinced that Myres would not just kill Sam for the sake of it, once he was sure it would hurt Gene, and they still had no guarantee of life. He had to remain focused if he wanted Sam back, had to command his men, had to stay objective. He could get emotional once Sam was safe. Emotional… the word held him for a second. Not a word he would ever use to describe himself, at least till his new DI sauntered in the door. no, not even then… the feeling had grown and crept up on him.

'This is where Jones said he saw them Guv,' Chris announced, too loudly, coming round to stand behind Gene from the other side of the Cortina, ''e said, there were Myres, and 3 other blokes, holding the Boss up between them, it looked like he were asleep, he said.' Chris tried to crane his neck around Gene to get a look at the small, low, concrete building.

'I dunno, Guv,' Ray drawled, however, casting the shelter a disinterested glance, and slouching against the boot of the Cortina as if he was bored out of his mind and being forced into the most utterly pointless activity he could think of on earth; not figuring out a way to save an endangered collegue. That simple fact pissed Gene off more than anything else, which was not the wisest of ideas since his emotions had been a little shaky since Sam had been snatched without that being added to by an idiotic sergeant. 'doesn't seem that likely to me, probably Jonesey trying to mess with us, you know what the bastard's like.'

Turning sharply DCI Hunt rounded on the smaller man.

'I don't bloody well care what seems likely to you DS Carling' he hissed, as loud as he dared for fear of being overheard. 'your opinion matters about as much to be as a bloody teacup's… I want to know if he has DI Tyler locked up, badly hurt in that concrete box, and I want to know N'

'Guv!' Chris whispered loudly from the position he had maintained looking out into the clearing, ' I recon I can see Myres…'

Gene practically threw his junior officer to the floor in his rush to make an ID, glad he had held back from bellowing at Ray.

'that's the slimy tosser alright,' Gene said as he watch the European man walk away flanked by two thugs, and disappear round the corner on to the estate. He turned back to Chris and Ray, 'back here tonight,' he whispered firmly.


End file.
